


Good Dog

by Deejaymil



Series: Original Stories by a Bored Australian [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, Hellhounds, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's a big dog. Big and black and friendly, and she never really regretted adopting him.</p><p>The sneezing sulfur is a little offputting, but no one is perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Dog

 

 

Alice leaned in close to the wire and squinted at the small, wrinkled animal on the other side. "What breed do you think it is?" she asked her husband doubtfully.

"Mutt," her husband replied without a thought. "Just a regular mutt."

Their son wriggled between them and beamed at the puppy, wide crooked grin boding ill for her dreams of a nice fluffy white dog to sit prettily around their home. "He's wicked," the boy announced, sealing their fate.

Her husband barely spared a glance from his smartphone. "Whatever you want, dear."

The dog sneezed, filling the air with the vague scent of fire and barbecue.

 

* * *

 

"Charlie wee'd a hole in my homework, mum," her son told her one day over a bowl of cereal, milk running down his chin.

She scrubbed at a sticky spot on her husband's plate, absently wondering if her neighbour had any of that dish cleaner she liked left. "You need to let him out more at night," she scolded. "He's just a pup, he needs boundaries. Get your diary, I'll write a note for your teacher."

"My tie's got spots," he grumbled another day, holding up a smoldering piece of material that used to be a tie.

"Whatever have you done to it?" her husband exclaimed. "If you've been smoking, you're in for a walloping!"

Alice shook her head disapprovingly as her son protested his innocence, reaching a stocking-ed foot under the kitchen table to rub at the dog's back.

He grumbled happily, licking her ankle. Later she'd wonder how she'd gotten such a tear in her brand new stockings, cursing at her bad luck.

 

* * *

 

Charlie never barked. In fact, Charlie never did much of anything except amble happily after her son or sit in front of the fireplace gazing longingly at the flickering flames.

"Charlie hates the new neighbour," her husband mentioned offhand one day as he peered out the curtains. "He gets his back up whenever he sees him."

"I don't blame him," Alice said with a sniff. "Like we don't all know he's been using his sprinklers outside of council regulations. We should report him."

She was clipping the roses later that week when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she turned to find the neighbour smiling coldly at her from over the hedges separating their yards.

"Nice yard you have," he remarked, eyes raking up and down her unpleasantly. "I'd love to get some clippings of those roses, what are they called? They look... delicious."

Charlie appeared at her side, hackles up and silently bristling, eyes glittering strangely. She twitched her mouth in the politest smile she could manage, edging along so the large dog was between her and the man. "Crimson Glory," she said quickly, backing towards the door. The man felt wrong. "Must dash, I've left the kettle on. Goodbye!"

It was only when she closed the door firmly with a firm sense of relief that she realized that Charlie was still outside, dark eyes following the man's every move.

"Good dog," she muttered to the door.

 

* * *

 

She hadn't quite realized what a relief it was to have a big dog in their home until the night the pane of glass next to the front door shattered, and the man crept in.

"Someone's in the house," she gasped to her husband, heart hammering madly in her chest with a tight sense of anticipation.

"Christ," her husband swore, looking about for a weapon. There was a loud bang downstairs, followed by a rumbling roar that was decidedly reminiscent of the dinosaur shows her son had liked, back before his voice and started cracking and he'd stopped calling her 'Mummy.'

"Charlie's got him!" crowed a delighted voice, and her guts turned to water as she recognized her son's voice. "Gettum Charlie'boy!"

"Christ!" her husband swore again, abandoning his search for a weapon and pelting out the door to find their son. As soon as the door opened, a strong, acrid scent floated in.

It reminded her of her schoolgirl days sitting in church and listening to a flabby priest scream about damnation. Brimstone, she thought absently, ghosting after her spouse, although she had no idea why she'd have thought that.

 

* * *

 

"Gas leak localized to that area of the house is my best guess, I'll be buggered if I can find it though," the fireman said later, scratching his nose and leaving a long streak of ash across it.

Alice watched the ambulance removing the charred corpse of their would-be assailant, sheets humped strangely over hands that had frozen forever in an outstretched posture.

"But we don't have gas,' her husband muttered, blinking slowly in confusion.

Charlie ambled up and lay his head against her knee, yawning loudly. "You are wicked," she told the dog sternly, wiping a smear of ash away from his nose.

All in all, perhaps it was for the best that Charlie was listed as a 'mutt.' People could get so funny about these things.


End file.
